


blind date

by poindextears



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Date, Chirping, Derek has an Alexa and it makes me uncomfortable, First Date, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, New York City, One Shot, Shitty Knight is a Good Bro, Short & Sweet, dex didn't go to samwell, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/poindextears
Summary: “Nursey. Brah. I’ll cut right to the chase.” Shitty is a successful lawyer, but somehow still talks like the frat bro he was when they were in college. Derek would love to see him in court. “Got a friend from Boston who just moved down there. I think you two would really hit it off.”“What, like, you want me to meet them?”“Even better,” Shitty replies. “I want you to take him to dinner. He could use someone to show him the ropes down there, and I thought, who better than my favorite New Yorker on the face of the Earth? Huh?”“Shits,” Derek mumbles. “If you make me go to Times Square I will literally physically manifest in your house and kill you.”Shitty sets Nursey up on a blind date. Based onthis Tweet and subsequent tumblr post.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 410





	blind date

**Author's Note:**

> I made a [tumblr post](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/190142966946/so-uh-nurseydex-au-anyone-hey) about this one viral Tweet where a lady goes on a date and calls herself clumsy and, well... you'll see.

Shitty puts him up to it.

He alerts Derek with a phone call, on a snowy Sunday afternoon. Derek is holed up in his apartment, armed with a giant mug of mocha coffee and a new book, watching snow fall on the city from the comfort of his chair by the window. He has not a care in the world. Until his phone rings.

This wouldn’t be a problem, except it’s all the way across the room. He lifts his eyes from the page he’s on and lets out a borderline Gremlin-like groaning sound. If this has anything to do with work, he’s kicking someone’s ass.

Not that he dislikes work— he just got the  _ associate _ taken off his job title, which means now he’s just  _ editor _ , so, to be honest, work has never been better. It’s just that he also believes weekend should, like, be a thing that exists.

But his ringtone persists, so  _ someone _ is trying to reach him. He sighs at the ceiling of his apartment. “Alexa, pick up.”

The line connects, and while he’s debating whether he should use his work voice or his casual voice, the person on the other end speaks first. A familiar voice fills the apartment. “Derek fucking Nurse, how the hell are you.”

“Oh.” Derek laughs. “Shitty. ‘Sup. I thought you were my boss.”

“Your boss calls you on Sunday afternoons?”

“Not usually,” he says. “That’s why I was worried.” He grabs his bookmark, slides it into his book to save his place, and leans forward in his chair. “But dude, how are you? To what do I owe this most honorable occasion of your call?”

“Right, look. Nursey. Brah. I’ll cut right to the chase.” Shitty is a successful lawyer, but somehow still talks like the frat bro he was when they were in college together a few years ago. Derek would love to see him in court. “Got a friend from Boston who just moved down there. I think you two would really hit it off.”

Derek leans against the arm of his chair. “What, like, you want me to meet them?”

“Even better,” Shitty replies. “I want you to take him to dinner. He could use someone to show him the ropes down there, and I thought, who better than my favorite New Yorker on the face of the Earth? Huh?”

“Shits,” Derek mumbles. “If you make me go to Times Square I will literally physically manifest in your house and kill you.”

“Hey! The missus won’t be very happy with you if that happens.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Derek grins. “How’s Lardo, anyway? I think I’m overdue to come up and see you guys.”

“Soon enough, brah. Promise. But first you’ve gotta do this for me. Look, there’s this great place in Lenox Hill. I’m sending you the location—”

“Wait—” Derek laughs. “Wait, wait, hold on. You just said I’m your most trusted New Yorker, and you’re not letting me pick the venue?”

“Just trust me, okay?—”

“Also, who is this guy?” he adds. “Can you be sure he’s not a serial killer?”

“He’s definitely not a serial killer,” Shitty replies, then repeats, “Just trust me. I think you two will get along great. And you never know; you could thank me someday.”

“Wait.” Derek pauses, furrows his brow. “Shitty. Are you sending me on a blind date?”

“I thought that was implied,” Shitty says, and then before Derek can have time to protest, he says, “Okay, so how’s your Thursday? Not doing anything?”

“I—”

“Great! Okay, I’m texting you the details in a group chat with him. Catch ya later, brah!”

And then the line goes dead.

*

The reservation is on Thursday at seven o’clock, at a restaurant Derek has heard of but never been to. He puts on a sweater and a tie, plus one of his nicer colognes, and takes a cab over. He has no idea what to expect, but he’ll do this, out of obligation to Shitty if nothing else. Besides, Shitty’s a good guy; he wouldn’t steer him the wrong way. And Derek could, if he’s being honest, use to get out into the dating scene. It’s been months since he even went on a date, and much longer since he had a real relationship.

He pulls up at the crowded restaurant, tips the cabbie, and walks in with his phone in-hand. On Sunday, after the phone call, Shitty put the Derek in a group chat with the guy— Will— to confirm the plans, then promptly left the conversation and left them to themselves. They haven’t texted all that much, but Derek has a text from him from ten minutes ago:  _ They seated me at a table to your right when you walk in, by the window. I have red hair and I’m wearing a dark blazer. _

The  _ I have red hair _ part is a little terrifying, but Derek is willing to suspend his judgement until he actually gets eyes on the guy.

Please let him be a normal human being.

The restaurant, when he walks in, has a nice vibe; there’s mood lighting from cool lamps made from old glass bottles, and what sounds like jazz music plays at a low volume, mixing with the sounds of clinking glasses and talking patrons and things sizzling in the kitchen behind the bar. “Hi,” says the hostess. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Actually, I’m meeting someone,” Derek replies, and he scans the right side of the restaurant for someone with red hair. When he spots a ginger guy in a blazer at a table alone by the window, he figures that must be him. “Oh— there he is,” he tells the hostess, then starts for the table. “Thank you.”

He catches the guy’s eye when he’s about halfway to the table, and he waves, flashing a little grin. Will is, thank God, a normal-looking guy, and good-looking too. He’s hot in a way that takes Derek by surprise, from his face full of freckles to his oversized ears to his broad shoulders. When he stands, Derek can see they’re about the same size and height. He wears a blazer over a blue shirt and tie; it’s a tidy look, and a good one.

“Derek?” he hears him ask, and Derek nods, then, when he reaches the table, holds out a hand.

“Hey. Yeah. That’s me.” As they shake hands, Derek smiles. His hands are big, and calloused, too. “And you’re Will.”

“Yeah— yeah, I am,” Will replies, and they hover over the table for just a split second before he adds, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Derek says, and he pulls out the chair opposite Will’s to sit down. Will hasn’t opened his menu yet, but there are two glasses of water on the table. “Leave it to Shitty Knight to set up blind dates in New York all the way from Boston.”

Will ducks his head and lets out a gentle laugh. His cheeks are just a little flush. “Thanks for meeting me here,” he says. “I… didn’t directly ask Shitty to set this up, but I’ve lived here for six weeks and I’m pretty sure the only things I’ve done outside of work are go to the gym and the grocery store.”

“Those are good places to be,” Derek points out, and he thinks,  _ especially the gym _ . Will is big; he’d bet he’s an athlete, or at least that he works out a lot. He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t a turn-on.

“So I haven’t looked at the menu yet,” Will says, “but I’m… not really in a rush. If you aren’t.”

Derek shrugs, leaning back in his chair just a little. “Not at all.”

“Okay.” Will smiles, just slightly, and that’s when Derek catches his gaze. His eyes are, oh,  _ God _ , his eyes are gorgeous, especially in the low light of the restaurant. They’re somewhere between brown and amber, and they do absolutely nothing to balance out the fact that this guy is every warm color palette imaginable, and yeah. Wow. Fuck. Okay.

He… would not be opposed to this date going well.

“So,” Derek starts, as Will takes a sip of his water. He does the icebreaking part well. “How do you know Shitty?”

Will grins, like the mere thought of Shitty is entertaining (which, let’s be honest, it is). “I played in the same pickup hockey league as him when I lived in Boston. The guy is a hoot.”

“Yeah, that’s facts,” Derek replies, but then— “Wait, hockey? You play?”

Will nods. “Yeah. Or I did, I guess. I haven’t been able to find a league here yet. But I played all through college.”

“No way!” Derek says. “Same here. That’s how I know Shits, actually. I went to high school  _ and _ college with him.”

“Oh, God.” Will chuckles a little, adjusting his tie. “That sounds like it’d be… an experience.”

“It was,” Derek assures him, and by the time the waiter comes around to take their drink orders, they’re talking about college and Shitty’s various frat antics at Samwell. Will went to U Maine, as it turns out, which means they must’ve played against each other in hockey without realizing. Derek feels like he would’ve remembered if he met him, but then again, how many players on other teams did he go up against in college?

They put in drink orders, and there’s a gentle pause in conversation before Derek asks him, “So you’re from Boston?”

“Well, no,” Will says. “I’m from Maine, originally. I moved to Boston for work after graduation.”

“What do you do?”

He’s a software developer, as it turns out, and his company is getting big, so they transferred him down here. He studied computer science in college, but he comes from a family of fishermen and sailors, so he’s both the geeky cousin  _ and _ the gay cousin. The waiter comes by with their drinks, but they don’t order yet.

Derek shares that he’s an author, that he passed his doctoral dissertation defense last spring, that, yeah, his name  _ is  _ technically  _ Dr. Nurse _ , but at least he’s not a medical doctor, which his mom is, and then Will laughs at that and Derek grins with him.

They’ve moved onto talking about how Will likes the city when the waiter comes around again, and Derek realizes that they’ve been here for at least thirty minutes without even opening their menus.

“I guess we should probably do that,” Derek says, and even though the waiter is standing right there, it’s more directed at Will.

“No rush at all,” the waiter says. “Just flag me down when you’re ready.”

“We will,” Will says, then, “Thank you.”

When he’s gone, Derek grins at him. “Should we think about eating?”

Will opens his menu and smiles with half his mouth. He is really fucking good-looking. Derek needs to lay down. “That seems like it’s probably a good move.”

*

Several drinks, two meals, and a shared dessert later, they’re laughing over some beer league story Will told about Shitty. Derek is pleasantly buzzed, and Will is smart and motivated and funny in a blunt, matter-of-fact way, not to mention easy on the eyes. He’s ready to mark this date down as a success, maybe even thank Shitty while he’s at it.

“Okay,” he says, with the last of the tiramisu on his fork. “Okay, check it. Uh… tell me something embarrassing about yourself. And I’ll do the same?”

“Embarrassing?” Will echoes, and Derek nods.

“Yeah!” he replies. “C’mon, self-deprecation is the best policy.”

Will looks skeptical for a second, but he’s still smiling, so he complies. There’s a little spot right between his eyes that wrinkles up when he knits his brows to think, and Derek can’t even lie, it’s cute. “Okay. Uh… let me think.”

Derek lets him think, and has the rest of the tiramisu while he does. It’s delicious, but the whole meal has been. Wherever Shitty found this restaurant, he had his sources straight.

“Okay,” Will says, after what feels like at least thirty seconds of visible self-scrutiny. “I guess… one time in high school, I had to paint my face for a pep rally, and the paint was  _ bright _ green, and it didn’t wash off fully for, like, a week after. I looked like the Wicked Witch of the West. It was awful. I… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Seriously?” Derek swirls his drink in one hand. “ _ That’s  _ the most embarrassing thing you could come up with?”

Will’s eyes widen, like he knows he’s being chirped, and is scandalized by that fact. “What are you, the embarrassment police? My cousins called me Hulk for, like, two months!”

“But that’s such a  _ localized _ memory,” Derek complains, fully aware he’s being a total wise-ass, and willing to sacrifice that knowledge in exchange for the steadily increasing blush on Will’s face. It extends, to Derek’s delight, all the way to his oversized ears. “Give me something broad! Y’know, like, how your ears get red when you’re being chirped.  _ I  _ think that’s a better embarrassing thing.”

Will’s mouth falls open slightly, but it’s still tugging towards a grin. He puts both hands over his ears and ducks his head. “That’s a low blow,” he says, now the color of a Maine lobster. Derek has never been more pleased with himself. “But you should know, I think this is the longest it’s ever taken for a date to make a comment about my ears.”

“Yo, chill,” Derek laughs, then he winks. “I like them.”

Will finally removes his hands, and he’s quiet for a second. The smile on his face gives Derek literal, actual butterflies. He can’t remember the last time he had those.

“Okay,” Will says. “Your turn.”

He’s ready for this. “Well,  _ I _ , as it turns out,” he says, tilting back in his chair for good measure, “am extremely clumsy.”

“Clumsy?” Will echoes, and then an idea dawns in his eyes, and he’s snickering, as if remembering something funny. “Well, okay. I have a story for you. I bet you’re not this clumsy.”

Derek falls forward in his chair again, then leans on the table, resting his head against his hand. “Try me.”

“Okay.” Will polishes off his drink for good measure, then nods, gets his smirk under control. It’s a really sexy smile, if Derek is being honest. “So my brother, he’s an EMT in Boston. And this one time…” Will snorts again. “God, I feel bad for laughing, but this one time, he got a call; this was, like, four, maybe five years ago, to a college campus. And it was because this guy somehow fell— fell out of his bunk bed—” As Will tries to get his laughing under control, Derek stares at him with gradually increasing terror.  _ Oh my God. Oh fuck.  _ “— and broke, like, both his arms and a leg. I— he turned out  _ fine _ , but can you imagine?”

Derek blinks, gapes at him. Memory flashes before his eyes, and all at once, he’s back at Samwell, groaning on his dorm room floor after the infamous Spill. He spent the entire spring and summer in varying casts, and he didn’t get back on the ice until November.

_ I don’t even know how it happened _ , he told his roommate, Chowder, who was the one who called 911 when he found him on the floor.  _ One second I was up there and then the next— _

He even remembers the redheaded EMT.

Now, sitting across from him, Will’s laughs have fizzled out, and he looks back at him with mild concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, completely clueless as to the fact that he’s just unlocked, like, a Stage 3 Nursey Is An Idiot memory. “You look like I have two heads.”

Derek blinks again. He tries to compose himself. He’s maybe even  _ blushing _ . “That was me,” he blurts.

Will wrinkles his brows again. He’s still cute. “What?”

“That was me,” Derek repeats, “the guy in the story. The guy your brother helped. I fell out of my bunk bed junior year of college and broke three limbs.”

Will’s face processes several different emotions in a brief period— realization, shock, guilt, and then (he can see it in his eyes) the overwhelming urge to burst out laughing again.

Derek beats him to it. He laughs. He hunches over the table and laughs his ass off. And then Will laughs, too, which is still a sort of poetic sound, even though Derek is drowning about five layers deep in his own mortification.

“Are you serious?” Will asks. They’re laughing loud enough to attract the attention of other people in the restaurant, but who fucking cares. Derek can only nod, because he’s too in stitches to vocalize actual English, and Will wipes at the side of his eye. “What are the odds of that?”

“I have no idea,” Derek manages to get out, and then he coughs like it’ll get it out of his system. They’re both dying for at least another minute or so, and Will gets himself under control first. Derek puts his hands over his eyes, makes an unattractive snorting sound, and ruffles the front of his curly hair.  _ Okay. Chill.  _ When he looks back at Will, his whole face is still red, but this time it seems it’s more from the pure absurdity of the situation. He reaches for his water to take a drink and cool down.

“I can’t believe I’m on a date with the clumsiest person on the Eastern Seaboard,” Will says finally.

Derek almost spits out his ice water, and all at once he’s laughing again. When he meets Will’s eyes, fraught with the best kind of self-conscience, he’s hit all at once with the realization that, despite the impossible odds of this coincidence, this has been a really good night. He’s not sure he wants it to end.

So, like, screw it. Shoot your shot. “How does a second date with the aforementioned clumsy person sound?”

Will sobers a little, and Derek’s heart thumps three anxiety-inducing times before he answers. “I would love that.”

_ And he scores! Top shelf, baby.  _ Derek grins. “Chill.”

*

It turns out Will’s new apartment isn’t far from his own, so they split an Uber back uptown and laugh in the backseat, half-buzzed and half-giddy. Shitty was right. Derek  _ will _ thank him later for this.

He likes Will. Likes him enough to want something real, actually. They swap second date plans on the ride back Will’s apartment, until they settle on Sunday brunch next weekend, so Derek can introduce him to the greatest mimosa in New York City.

“And you already have my number,” Will says, as he holds out a hand to get Derek out of the car. When he steps up onto the curb— thankfully with no tripping or stumbling involved— Will doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Yes,” Derek replies, as the Uber drives away. He surveys the area they’ve been dropped off in— it’s only a few blocks from his, and the apartment buildings, modestly tall and all clustered together, look mostly the same as his own building. “Which one is you?”

“That one right there,” Will replies, pointing to a doorway under an ivy-wound awning just up the sidewalk. Derek’s hand is maybe tingling a little, where he’s holding it.

Yeah. He’d very much like to do this again.

When they get to his door, he walks him up the steps, and the hug they share is, thank God, not the awkward kind of hug after a first date where you’re not on the same page. Instead, it’s warm and good-natured and even kind of soft. Derek smiles at him as he unlocks his door.

“Thank you,” Will says. “For tonight. I had a great time.”

“Same here,” Derek replies, and he means it. “I’m gonna thank Shitty.”

Will nods, chuckles a little. “I should do that, too.”

He’s making his way down the steps when he hears Will call, “Hey— Derek.”

He turns. Will is lingering in the doorway, with that gorgeous, wise-ass smirk on his face. “Try not to break any limbs before our next date, okay?”

Derek doubles over with a noise that’s somewhere between a snort and a laugh, and then, almost as if to prove Will’s point, stumbles down the stairs in a way that only narrowly avoids falling. When he’s safely on the level ground of the sidewalk, he turns to face the door and tells him, “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Will replies, red-faced as all hell. He steps into the building and waves. “Goodnight, Derek.”

Derek grins up at him. “Night, Will.”

When the door is shut, he stands there for a second more, like a guy in a rom-com who knows his life is about to change. Who knows. It’s cheesy as fuck, but maybe it is.

Shitty was right.

He sticks his hands in his pockets, starts down the sidewalk, and makes it all the way back to his apartment.

He doesn’t trip, even once.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! I'm Mel.


End file.
